last line of defense
by tinted lens
Summary: She pulls the knife out and lunges it towards him, and for a second she thinks that maybe, maybe something will finally go right in her life for once. [Anita-centric]


**title; **last line of defense**  
summary; **she pulls the knife out and lunges it towards him, and for a second she thinks that maybe, maybe something will finally go right in her life for once.**  
disclaimer; **don't own _Hunter x Hunter._

/

it's fifteen to midnight when she decides to break the silence. the public restroom is tight, cramped with people and the mirror she's staring at is cracked, so Anita decides there's nothing more to lose and says _why not_?

"_are you sure_," she says with fear, (_disappointment_) in her familiar green eyes, hair wet and matted and dressed in a pink nightgown she's long since outgrown,

and Anita hates it, hates to see herself, what she once was before the knife lunged deep into his chest and the doctors proclaimed him dead after they've cleaned the blood from the floor, wiping it until it's spotless and there's not a lingering trace of murder left when she arrives to see the body.

"_are you sure you want to do this?_" she repeats, and her voice is hoarse, weak from hours of crying into the pillow and for a moment Anita stops breathing, looks into her own eyes and replies, _yesyesyes _without hesitation, her slender hand feeling the knife inside her bag (_sharp and cold and effective_), the edge just ever so slightly slicing the tip of her fingers.

she feels numb, painless as she lifts her finger, watching the blood spill out like ink from her skin and it doesn't bother her anymore, it's almost scary.

a part of the floor is stained red and before she can manage to stop it, the nightmare returns and all she can do is stand still and pray for it to _stop, please stop please_.

it doesn't. but by now, she's gotten used to it.

/

she climbs and sneaks into the blimp unnoticed, effortlessly taking apart the steel door with a few pushes of her knife. it's all too easy for her, she notices, and knowing that only worsens the paranoia.

she takes deep breaths as she throws the cloak away into the night, obsessively touching her earrings as if they're her lifeline (_whatever memory left of him, she'll hold onto_) and she says one last goodbye to herself, hearing only the soft whirring of machines and her own muffled footsteps as a reply. (_it's good enough for her_)

/

of course she knows.

of course she knows that this is nothing but a foolish deathwish. that the examiners will, eventually, catch up to the fact that she's not in the boat to the nearest island with all the other failed participants, that even _if_ she kills the kid (_him! him! it's all his fault!_), his family will mourn in hypocrisy over his death, track her down and give her the death penalty.

of course she knows.

and yet, here she is, hammering the last nail of her coffin into place. all that's left is the body.

she's going to die. but it doesn't matter anymore, to her.

(_it never does._)

at the very least, she's going to die trying.

/

"sorry,"

she pushes his hand away (_feels so warm, she misses it but she has to let go_) and all of a sudden the table flips and falls, the cups and plates crashing down on the floor with a deafening crash.

she gives her speech, pulls the knife out (_it stabs her hand again, and it hurts more than ever_) and lunges it towards him, the tip so, _so_ close to his chest, and for a second she thinks that maybe, maybe something will finally go right in her life for once.

/

they catch her, take her knife and she gasps, the high from the attack disappearing as quickly as it came. _it's the end_, she tells herself, her eyes darting over to the boy (_Killua. his name i A._), and she sees nothing in him.

the smug look he has plastered on his face reminds her of herself, or perhaps what she's been aiming and failing to be for so long. (_cold. emotionless. calculating. murderous._)

oh, she who fights monsters.

/

_no_, she whispers, _it's not the end. i'm not going to die meaninglessly._

the blade is back in her hand and she _runs_, _runs_, _runs_ until the closet door behind her is out of sight.

her breathing grows heavy, but she keeps going. _he has to be here somewhere—_

/

there's a dead body lying on the floor beside him. she knows that, once the time comes, she'll end up there, too, lying in a pool of her own blood just like how her father spent the last minutes of his life.

she screams, yells at him on top of her lungs but he doesn't say a word, just stares at the corpse with empty eyes and looks back at her, as if waiting for an attack.

so, she does. he jumps and shields and disappears, completely in silence and it doesn't take her by surprise when he finally tackles her to the cold floor headfirst, his hand blocking her neck from any movement.

_i'm sorry, father. i'm sorry._

she waits for death to pick her up.

/

her eyes flicker open and she's awake, still alive. a guard comes to take her instead of death, though she can't exactly decide whether it's for better or for worse.

"the clouds do look beautiful." the old man says, smiling warmly at her even though she knows she doesn't deserve such friendliness. "you're looking at the clouds, aren't you?" he asks, and all she can do is bite her lips and nod.

she remembers, how she used to spend so much time gazing at the sky as she waited for father to finish his work, waited for him to come out of the tall buildings with smiling men and women closing the door for him, waited for him to take her hand and bring her home, before going again and promising her that he'll come home for her birthday.

"how do i know you're not lying?" she asks, once.

"because i love you, Anita." he replies.

and she waited and waited and waited until it is past twelve and it doesn't count anymore because the date's changed.

the phone rings at fifteen past midnight, and she picks it up, hearing an unfamiliar voice at the other end.

she feels her whole world shatter.

/

maybe there is a future for her, after all.

/

she throws the earrings away and doesn't look back.

/

**a/n;** sorry if this is horrible, i just wanted to write about Anita. maybe i'm the first to do so.

i'm thinking of writing a couple stories focused on one-time minor characters, because they're like, so unappreciated. i think i'm gonna do Pokkle/Ponzu next.

anyway, review?


End file.
